Not Mine
by LoveFromShinola
Summary: The revelation that Leia is Luke's sister affects the Sith Lord more than we know, as he understands that, blood or no, Leia Organa will never be his.


**AN:**

**Well, now that I've done a whole host of stories in other fandoms, I'm returning to Star Wars to do just a little father/daughter piece on Leia/Vader. This is basically what Vader is thinking when he realises Luke has a sister. After all, he must have realised, when reading Luke's mind, who that sister was. The Princess, the Senator, the girl he tortured: Leia Organa. Hope you like it. **

**Disclaimer: I do not have a beard, nor am I grey haired. Therefore, how am I George Lucas? Though it's difficult for me, I have to admit: no I don't own Star Wars and so will be forced to get a normal job when I leave uni. Gutted.**

'Especially for…sister.'

In Luke's mind, in his _son's _mind, Vader unveiled the existence of _another_. _Another. _When for so long he had believed he had killed his child with…her, now he knew there were two of them. His first reaction was anger. Obi-Wan had hidden them from him. Obi-Wan had denied him any shred of happiness, by having his children raised by someone other than their own father. His loathing for the man, his satisfaction at being the bringer of his death, only increased.

Until an image came, unbidden, to Vader's mind from Luke's, and he knew once and for all who his mystery daughter really was.

_Leia._

He had known Leia Organa since she was but an infant, bumping into her in the halls of Alderaan's palaces during meetings or inspections. There had always been something about the girl, an undeniable something, that had vexed him. She had been able to anger him, that day on Tantive IV, when no-one else had evoked emotion from him in years. The shock of it had left him reeling, but he had dismissed it. Ignored it, considered it a one-time act, brought about by stresses and strains.

And yet, was he not _always _stressed and strained? He had pushed to the back of his mind any inkling that this girl could mean something to him. She was familiar, that was all. Too familiar to another dark-haired, dark-eyed young royal. A politician with too much bravery and a razor-sharp wit. And a steely glare that could fell the best of men.

How had he not seen it before? Him, with the highest midichlorian count of any existing creature? How had he not known, intuitively, instinctively, that this feeling was something biological, a connection between him and this child he had not raised, but had, in a pure moment of love with his wife, created? He damned his senses for not revealing this to him sooner.

The pain he had put his daughter – put Leia – through! This woman was not _his _daughter. To be someone's daughter, someone's father, was a status earned. He had not raised his child. He had not seen her grow from a baby to a little girl to a young woman. She did not, as it were, belong to him. She belonged to Organa.

All these years…all these years Organa had been nervous and discomfited around him he had attributed it to the mask and the suit, to his general air of hostility. When, in actual fact, the man had probably been terrified that Vader would discover his secret. Why had he not? Distractions, uncaring…none of them seemed like a valid excuse. He could have learnt this so much earlier. He could have…

What could he have done? His daughter was not his daughter. She didn't love him. In fact, she hated him. And with very good reason. To know she did, Sith Lord or not, stabbed him to his core. But it was entirely too true and reasonable an emotion.

He had stood by and watched as Tarkin had blown her planet, her family, friends and home to shreds. He had belittled her, shouted at her, in all probability terrified her, though she would never show it. And he had – oh _Force, no _– he had tortured his own child. He had watched the pain, the terrible pain, come and go across her face, however she'd tried to supress it. For a second, the pain of this double of the woman he'd lost had jarred him, but he'd let it pass. How he wished now he had never let it be.

He had thought the child was a girl, while she had sworn it was a boy. They had both been right. But he had always, before he knew of Luke, imagined a daughter, how old she would be, what she might be doing. He had dared sometimes, on his darkest of days, to imagine what his life would have been like now, at this very moment, had he not succumbed to Palpatine. She and he would have raised their children together, perhaps had more. He was certain now, unfailingly so, depressingly so, that she would have survived were it not for his turning. In attempting to change her fate, he had in fact caused it. He could barely comprehend the irony. There was nothing humorous in this life without love.

He stood before his son, knowing he had harmed him; severed his hand no less. And now he knew he had also harmed his daughter. He had tortured her, his inaction had destroyed her when it came to Alderaan. He wished he had intervened, as something in the Force had told him to. He wished now he had taken hold of Tarkin's throat and squeezed the life out of his skeletal, over-confident face.

But what difference would it have made? He would have gotten himself in deep water with the Emperor, who favoured Tarkin, and his daughter would never have understood the gesture. And if she had, she would have hated him for killing the man in such a brutal fashion. Either way he could not win. Either way, his daughter still hated him and he was still a monster of a man, despised by a galaxy, but more important to him, despised by his child. A child he had long thought dead.

All these years he had believed himself alone in the world, when in actual fact, two parts of him were thriving, fighting, surviving. _Oh, Padmé, _he thought, thinking her name for the first time in twenty odd years. She had always been _she_. He had never managed to think of her name, that name, until now. _Padmé, what have I done?_

The Senate, a reunion, trembling.

_Ani…I'm pregnant._

Excitement, exhilaration, anticipation.

_I had a dream…about you._

Terror, paranoia, such fear.

_I won't let this one become real._

Determination, raw, powerful need.

_You're breaking my heart! You're going down a path, I can't follow!_

Idiocy, blindness, rage.

_LIAR! You brought him here to kill me!_

One horrific moment. One tragic mistake. Four lives changed forever.

_It seems in your anger, you killed her._

He had lied. Palpatine had lied. He may have as good as murdered her, but she had not died then and there. She had lived long enough. Luke and Leia were proof of that.

_I am your father._

Seconds had passed, mere seconds, in which, behind a mental fortress of walls, he had thought these thoughts, brooded over action or inaction. How could he strike his son? He had already damaged him. Soemthing inside of him had snapped. The darkness was still there, oozing in at the cracks, but there was a bright, burning light in the centre of his mind, spreading its arms into the darkness, banishing it like sun does the night.

_He had a son. He had a daughter. _He had to die.

**AN:**

**Hope you liked it. Very rambling I know, but hey, wouldn't your thoughts be a bit all over the place if you found out you had a child you never knew existed? Tell me what you think x**


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